Crimone Gardens
by skysedge
Summary: The tragedy of the Crimone Garden affected so many people in radically different ways. Seven perspectives on the event, from the protagonists of Godchild. Many genres, no pairing. Rated T for Delilah chapters.
1. Blame

**This 'story' will have 7 chapters, each chapter being one character's perspective on the incidents in volume 5, The Crimone Gardens story. (My favourite book) They will all make sense separately but I figured it would be rather fun to read them all together and it allows me to explore writing each one in character.**

**Oh, and unlike everything else this ****isn't**__** yaoi. Scary huh? I will just draw from what is said in the manga…some of which is almost yaoi so don't despair!**

**So you know what's coming or can skip forward easily the chapter will (most likely) be as follows:**

**Blame – Cain**

**Innocence – Mary Weather**

**Denial – Jizabel **

**Shame – Riff**

**Duty – Oscar**

**Loss – Cassian**

**Reality – Alexis**

**Off we go.**

Blame 

_A door is shut and footsteps tread lightly over to a desk. A book is brought out of the cupboard, leather bound and old. There is a clink of an ink bottle and a long, drawn out sigh. The writing begins._

Time for another entry, lord knows I need time to think.

It pains me to think that for a moment, I could have lost everything that night. I had been extremely lucky not to lose anything at all which is more than a little unsettling – since when have _I _ever been the lucky type?

I suppose though, I did lose something. In a way. My eyes have finally been opened where Mary is concerned. And….it hurts I suppose. I should have been stricter with her, more firm. I shouldn't have let Oscar anywhere _near_ her, the big blundering buffoon…

But no, who am I kidding? I'm not angry because of her, she had every right to want to go. If it had been a normal event then I would probably have taken her. And I'm not really angry at Oscar either, although he _should_ have known better, he was the one to save her….but she wouldn't have been in danger if it wasn't for him.

Forget that, I _am_ angry at Oscar. But he did his best so until he does something else that's undeniably stupid I will hold back. I shouldn't have to wait for long.

The Crimone Gardens….while I was up in that room I was in danger. Of course I was. But looking back I can't help feeling guilty – while Riff and I were dealing with the devil, we allowed his work to carry on outside. Thousands have died. _Thousands._ I presume that many were children, like Mary. Children, mothers, lovers…a perfect night out. Perhaps some of them were killed instantly? That would have been okay, surely. They had bad lives, might have come from the slums and dying while perfectly happy could be seen as a blessing. No. Whichever way you look at it, that night was tragic. All because of one mans hate for the lower classes. I truly despair of this country sometimes.

Anyway, on to happier matters. If I think about the loss anymore my brain will melt. Riff is doing fine, he isn't angry at all that I had had to hit him. Well, if he is angry he doesn't show it and that's good too – a good butler should always be in control of his emotions. A good butler wouldn't have allowed himself to be captured though. God, what is wrong with me this evening? Placing blame on everyone except the one person that really deserves it.

Gladstone. I have met a lot of really awful people in my time but he makes my skin crawl more than anything. So much hate, so much anger….he was like an animal. What he did to that poor boy is unforgivable. Why is it that Delilah insists on torturing boys? Emile, Leroy…myself. Even the doctor has a boy running around with him. My father of course would have to be giving permission for all of this….and he must know how it plagues me.

Oh, I said I was to talk of happy matters didn't I? Back to Riff then. Strange that I always turn to Riff in times like this. If it wasn't so late I would wake him but my days of needing comfort in the middle of the night are…I was going to say 'long gone' but they're not – the days of my going and _asking_ for comfort in the middle of the night are long gone. Riff would always be there, when I asked. He is still there for me now, I know it. I won't go to him. Grown men don't do things like that. The world outside is so insane, I must at least try and preserve normality in here, for Mary's sake.

The candle is burning out. I suppose that means I won't be sleeping much again tonight. Never mind, I wouldn't enjoy sleeping too long anyway. Recently there have been nightmares….flames, blood, the smell of wine…and Mary crying….

Crimone Gardens, it always returns to Crimone Gardens. The _Precious_ Garden. The place where I almost lost three of the people most precious to me in this world and the place where a precious life was ended.

There is no use in thinking about it, is there? I will only upset myself again. Tomorrow is another day. I will take Mary shopping tomorrow, maybe ask Riff to get the cooks to make us sandwiches. I do hope the weather will be nice….and we can have a normal day.

Let me end this wretched night with one simple wish – that this house remains a sanctuary for…well, for me. A selfish wish. I think I deserve one by now.

Cain.

_The book is deposited into the drawer and the figure climbs into a tall bed. The soft sounds of sleep soon echo throughout the large room. And the house slumbers on._


	2. Innocence

**Oh my word, it's been a long time hasn't it? Sorry for that. I reverted into drabble mode again so here is the nest instalment – Mary's chapter. I know it's short but I couldn't imagine her writing an essay *laughs* Bless her little heart.**

* * *

Innocence

_The darkness is alive with the rustling sound of petticoats. Dust on the floor is swept up into clouds as someone slides over them to come to rest under the bed. A candle is lit quietly. A small book is flipped open and words flow across the page in a neat, childlike script._

Hello again, Mr Diary!

It's been quite a while since we last spoke, hasn't it? But I promise you it wasn't my fault, a lot has been happening and Brother has taken to ordering Riff in to check if I am sleeping every night. They both _know_ I'm not sleeping so I don't see why we have to keep pretending. But never mind.

So, what can I tell you? Well, some awful things happened. I upset Brother and Oscar got hurt because of me…but it doesn't do to think about it! I apologised to everyone already and they all know I'm sorry for what I've done….

Oh fine then, I'll tell you. I convinced Oscar to sneak me out to The Precious Garden. He is ridiculously easy to fool and it was foolish to leave him in charge but…it doesn't matter. Oscar is a good man, no matter how…strange he can be.

The Garden _was_ pretty. I suppose it's sinful of me to say that now, after all that happened…but it was! Before everything happened it was so colourful and lively! If ever there is an event like that again I will force Brother to take me. Though, what with the disaster I doubt there will ever be such an event here again.

Thousands of people died that night, Diary. That's a lot of people. Oscar rescued me, you know. It's sort of surprising. Now I'm trying to be extra nice to him because of it and the ease with which I can do this is irritating. I think Brother has noticed but has yet to say anything. I wish he _would_ say something and then Oscar won't get any ideas above his station!

Brother has been acting kind of strange recently. I don't know what happened exactly, but I'm pretty sure someone did something awful to him and Riff too. I don't really want to know. I'm sure they will tell me someday. When it becomes necessary for me to know…

Oh! Do you know what vexes me, Diary? Aunt Katina has become even worse than ever. She's making me do so much work, my hand is aching just writing this! I don't see why she has to treat me like a slave, the old hag!

It's not as if I-

_Footsteps echo along the corridor outside._

Oh, no! Riff's coming after all. I have to go now. Talk to you soon!

Love, Mary

_The book is flipped shut, the candle hastily blown out and the dust spirals into the air as a small body slides out from under the bed. As the footsteps outside reach the door, the sheets on the bed are pulled back and a girl throws herself beneath them and screws her eyes shut. The door opens. A brother looks upon the sleeping figure and smiles while the princess feigns sleep. He retreats and soon the room becomes filled with the sound of soft breathing. _

* * *

**I think I piled on the fluff a bit thick there. Ah well. Jizabel up next. Excited? XD**


	3. Denial

**Ehem, long wait? I'm sorry. Boy am I on an updating spree this weekend! I needed to vent a little so it was time for Jizabel's rambling. There are more italicised sections in this since I feel Jizabel is a man who gives more away through body-language than through words. **

Denial

A small candelabra burns in a room occupied by two men late at night. One is short, old and hums to himself as he covers pages of a medical journal with complex figures and diagrams. The other is tall, slender and remains silent as he writes slowly in another journal, letters large and flowing. After a while he glances across at the shorter man who hums on obliviously. Another small book is pulled out from under a stack of papers and laid in the middle of the medical journal. A date is added and then words began to flow hurriedly across the page, as though the writer is trying to project his thoughts onto paper and rid them from his head.

What a complete and utter mess. Thousands dead and what have we gained? Nothing. Well, nothing but the passing of thousands of worthless, pointless human lives which is a small gain at least.

Why I ever allowed myself to become involved with the eccentricities of a man like Cassandra I will never know…if the cardmaster had not ordered me to, I would never have spent even a second at his side. I rather think I scared Zenopia while operating on Cassandra, who would have known that the old fool didn't enjoy the delicate sound of a skull being split apart? I enjoyed myself thoroughly. Not to mention discovering our experiment would actually work. It was useful that Cassian gave us such an opportunity…

The writer pauses and glares at the words he has just written. The word 'cardmaster' is blotched and scrawled as though the writer wanted to get rid of it as fast as possible, while the word 'Cassian' has been elegantly transcribed as though a lot of time was spent savouring the letters. Casting another glance towards the other man, the writer shakes his head in displeasure and continues writing, more quickly than before.

If I can't be honest to myself, with whom _can_ I be honest? The mess here isn't that Delilah made no progress from the incident, or the fact that Zenopia is writing a ridiculous amount of notes on Cassian's operation and mourning his loss….it is exceedingly annoying, but it is not a mess. The mess exists here…everything feels untidy since the incident. Everything. Although the loss of one subordinate should not make the slightest change to my work I find myself feeling lost more and more often. Surely I will be punished again soon for my lapses in judgment. I'm quite looking forward to it. _There_ at least is something that makes sense. Actions must be answered for.

…When will Cassian answer for his actions? He needn't have run away. Foolish…no. I am the foolish one. He told me so, did he not? It is no surprise that he left after what happened…I suppose the part of him that wishes to be a saviour realised there is nothing here willing to be saved…

_The writer pauses again, glares at the last two paragraphs and then hastily scribbled over them, smearing ink across the page. The other man pauses in his humming briefly. The writer shrugs and says gently, 'The calculations were incorrect.' The shorter man resumes his humming and the writer stares at his fingers which are now covered in black ink. He then begins to write again_.

The air in this room is vile and making me act foolishly. The loss of Cassian means nothing to me or the organisation. He served little purpose except to get in my way….

This is crossed out and replaced with 'saving my life' which is crossed out so hard the paper rips. The writing resumes.

Except to get in my way. Yes. The fool was always meddling and acting above his station. Even my new subordinate is more useful, despite his idiotic, fire filled babbling and flamboyant outfits. All humans are a waste of skin, but at least this one leaves me to my own devices. Yes, things are certainly looking up. Cassandra is gone. His vile contraption has been taken by the cardmaster…I do not wish to…I am not in the position to question his motives. Things will start progressing again, life will become busy….and this whole untidy mess can be forgotten.

Yes. Things are certainly improving.

The writer stops and his gaze softens as he hesitantly probes memories that had been prowling the edge of his consciousness since he had begun writing. Slowly, distractedly, barely looking at the paper, a final paragraph is entered into the journal.

I saw Cassian at the train station today. He seemed healthy, well, healthy for him. The encounter was so brief I cannot be sure how he was feeling. By the time I realised who I was looking at, he had turned and vanished into the crowd and no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't reach him in time. He boarded a train and left, probably left the city. Freedom. Safety. What strange emotions he must be experiencing after a life of confinement. I wonder…if I had listened to him from the start, would I too be leaving the city? Would I too be free?

The journal is suddenly slammed shut and lifted from the table. The writer turns and quickly leaves the room, ignoring the questions called out by his humming companion. He quickly walks away from the room filled with flickering, uncertain candlelight and enters into a dark passage with a sigh of relief as though wrapping himself in shadows.

"No," he whispers, "I can never be free."

The journal is burnt that night along with a series of notes and other papers concerning a certain operation. And the writer lays on his bed and stares into the darkness until the first rays of dawn creep into the room, unable to sleep for fear he will dream of freedom.

**Angsty eh? Sorry about that. Next up is Riff – and I can't for the life of me remember what I was going to write XD Must put brain in Riff mode! Please drop me a line sweeties. **

**Oh and see? I told you no yaoi! Just canon-like hints of shonen-ai. I am proud of meself**


End file.
